


on the eighteenth

by skittidyne



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Daishou is a shit but he is not a villain, Deep Cover Mission, Fake Marriage, Kuroo has it so bad for Kenma and yet misses every move he makes, M/M, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s an extraction job,” Sugawara said over the edge of his clipboard. Tetsurou nodded; Kenma kept poring over his own briefing, reading at a faster pace and only keeping half an ear open for the verbal summary. Tetsurou would read over it himself later. “You two will be picking up your newlywed routine again, surname Kikuchi. You’re renting and this is the first time you’ve lived together. Your wedding was last month on the eighteenth, and you just got back from your honeymoon.”</p><p>Tetsurou whistled. Kenma hadn’t reacted.</p><p>“You can’t have a cat this time,” Sugawara pointedly added.</p><p> </p><p>(( or: kuroo sweats and must deal with being married to his massive (but totally professional) crush kenma, while simultaneously trying to track down and somehow help daishou who would probably rather eat his fist; there's a lot for kuroo to sweat about ))</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the eighteenth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curiouslylazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslylazy/gifts).



> this was a charity thing for the ever-wonderful curiouslylazy!! i was told to go with "fake married spy au" and good lord did i go for it

“It’s an extraction job,” Sugawara said over the edge of his clipboard. Tetsurou nodded; Kenma kept poring over his own briefing, reading at a faster pace and only keeping half an ear open for the verbal summary. Tetsurou would read over it himself later. “You two will be picking up your newlywed routine again, surname Kikuchi. You’re renting and this is the first time you’ve lived together. Your wedding was last month on the eighteenth, and you just got back from your honeymoon.”

Tetsurou whistled. Kenma hadn’t reacted.

“You can’t have a cat this time,” Sugawara pointedly added.

This had been seven and a half hours ago.

Tetsurou is somewhat used to deep cover, although this isn’t the worst he’s gone through. It’s the third time he’s used a marriage as a cover, second time with Kenma. This job is supposed to last anywhere from four to eight months, depending on a lot of things, some of which are out of their control. They have to find a way to extract Daishou Suguru from his own hellishly deep cover mission, and to do that, they basically have to finish his job for him.

Tetsurou doesn’t like cleanup jobs.

He does, however, like one Kozume Kenma, and that poses a problem. Or, rather, doesn’t, since it means he can lend credibility to his acting. Not that he’s a _bad_ actor, but Kenma can always see through him, and _that_ poses a problem. If there’s suddenly nothing to see through, then what?

And so, Tetsurou is already buckled in for what will definitely turn into one hell of a job. One way or another.

 

—

 

Neither of them get any sleep before they’re dropped off with a moving truck full of items neither of them have ever owned. It’s been about an hour since the sun rose, so the day is still brisk, but it’s not long before both of them have worked up a sweat. They’re now living in a modest apartment complex in a quiet, residential neighborhood; they’re not supposed to be well-to-do enough to hire movers to haul everything upstairs for them. Their apartment is on the fourth floor. There isn’t an elevator.

Sometimes, Tetsurou thinks Sugawara is a sadist.

They’re about halfway done by the time the first inquisitive neighbor stops by. It doesn’t look like she lives on their floor, but she catches them on the sidewalk, in workout clothes and a ponytail. “Oh, are you moving in?” she asks, and Tetsurou beams at her as he jogs out from the lobby to help Kenma lift what he thinks are more dishes. How many dishes did their team think they need?

He knows Kenma is fully capable of lifting the boxes without much strain. Yet he puts on a show of wobbling with the single, small box, just to make Tetsurou reach out to catch him on the curb. “Yes, we’ve just gotten here today. Here, let me get that for you.” Tetsurou takes the box from Kenma, just like he knows he wants, just like he knows he can’t refuse. He’s supposed to be the helpful, doting husband.

Their fingers brush as Kenma shifts the weight of the box into Tetsurou’s arms. Tetsurou blames his hot face on the exertion of lugging everything upstairs.

Tetsurou turns and heads back into the building, leaving Kenma to chat with the woman. Tetsurou is far from bad with people, but Kenma will get a better grasp of things, faster, and ultimately figure out what to ask about the area. They don’t know who Daishou’s target is yet.

It takes them the better part of the day to carry everything upstairs. By sundown, both Tetsurou and Kenma are exhausted. It wasn’t just the heavy lifting all day; Kenma is drained from interactions with the new, curious neighbors and the acting involved with that, Tetsurou is drained from calibrating his sweet newlywed persona in order not to out himself, and they stare down at the mattress on the floor next to the dismantled bed frame.

Tired as he is, Tetsurou hadn’t actively put much thought into _bed-sharing_ until Kenma wearily asks, “Wall or not?”

Tetsurou knows that Kenma prefers the open side. Tetsurou knows that Kenma always gets up, exactly once, in order to do a check of whatever room he’s in. Tetsurou knows a lot about Kenma, as a professional.

This is the first time they’ve shared a bed since Tetsurou became aware of his disastrously huge infatuation. All of the snarky quips, all of the sweet reassurances, all of the kind nothings, they fade from his tongue as he stares down at the bare mattress.

“Kuro,” Kenma prompts, with a tug on Tetsurou’s sleeve.

Tetsurou jumps, and he hates that reaction almost as much as the nickname. “Kenma,” he starts, reproachfully, and Kenma stares down at his bare feet like he already knows.

They don’t actually speak the rest of the conversation aloud.

Kenma knows he should be scolded for using the nickname on a mission. Tetsurou, in turn, knows that he’s just tired and it was an early-mission mistake. Kenma knows that the early times in any deep cover job are crucial, however, and Tetsurou knows that this mistake will not happen again. They’re professionals. A little fatigue, a little blessed alone time, should not trip them up so easily.

Tetsurou pulls off his shirt, tosses it onto the floor littered with half-open boxes, and crawls into bed first. Kenma slides in after him, pulling a sheet up for them both. It’s wrinkled from the trip and smells too strongly of lavender fabric softener.

They’re alone right now; while they should maintain some base level of their personas at all times, they don’t have to put up the full act of the sappy newlyweds. They fall asleep with their backs to each other, not a word exchanged.

 

—

 

“Tetsu,” he hears and feels a tug on one of his belt loops.

He hums as he turns to find Kenma glaring up at him with reproach in his wide, gold eyes. Tetsurou arches an eyebrow in confusion, but is swiftly tugged down into a searing kiss.

He’s ashamed that emotions don’t come into play at all for a long, long moment; it’s day two, they’re newlyweds living together for the first time, and they no longer have the excuse of carrying boxes. They have a show to put on for the neighbors.

He forces a noise from his throat the first time, but the second one is natural, and it is _then_ that his heart catches up with the fact that he is _kissing Kenma_. Kenma seems content to take the lead, and Tetsurou is equally content to let him, for multiple reasons. Multiple, guilty reasons. But his discomfort with the situation comes secondary to the job, and he raises his hands to cup Kenma’s face, fingers tangling in his shaggy hair, loose from its bun.

Kenma’s eyes are still open, studying him; Tetsurou keeps letting his slide shut. When Kenma is satisfied by the breathless noises and the rare grunt, he pulls back a moment, and their breaths mingle as they try to regulate their breathing once more. Tetsurou is still holding him, and Kenma’s hands at some point have settled on his waist.

Kenma moves down his jaw to his neck, perfunctory, and sinks his teeth into the side of his throat. The noise Tetsurou makes is obscenely loud, and there’s a happy thrill in his gut since he knows it was only partially acted.

He has no idea how far Kenma will actually take this. It’s not as if people are _watching_ since they’re alone. Yet Kenma marks his neck like he’s getting paid. In a way, Tetsurou supposes he is, so he’s going to enjoy every moment of getting paid to let Kenma do this.

Kenma is satisfied all too soon. Tetsurou knows there’s going to be one large, glaringly obvious hickey, probably surrounded by smaller bites—he wishes he could tilt his head and offer up the other side, but that may be pushing it. Kenma releases him, rocks back off the tips of his toes, and nods toward the bed.

And now it’s purely professional.

Tetsurou flops down on the bed hard enough to make the springs squeak, Kenma half a moment later. They don’t touch. They take turns bouncing and both of them make enough noise to surely build a resume as adult film actors, but it isn’t long before Tetsurou is flipping through a cheap mystery novel between moans and Kenma is on his phone. Occasionally, Kenma kicks the wall for emphasis.

Tetsurou loses track of how long this goes on for. Surely the neighbors must have a thought or two about their stamina by the time Kenma gestures at him for a grand finale.

They collapse onto the bed together with strung-out groans, and the bed frame _thunks_ against the wall. Even jumping on the bed was strangely exhausting, and they lay against each other in a mess of tingling limbs. Tetsurou likes to think he can still feel the imprint of teeth on his neck.

He wonders if Kenma actually makes _any_ of those noises in a real sexual situation.

 

—

 

Tetsurou freezes at the creak of a door.

There isn’t supposed to be anyone here, hasn’t been for hours and _shouldn’t_ be for hours, but he’s certain he heard something.

They’re just over two weeks into their mission; it was risky to move this soon, but Tetsurou wanted a solid lead, and considered the risk worth it. Sugawara is going to _flay them_  if he’d fucked up a deep cover mission this fast.

Tetsurou suddenly wishes he hadn’t been able to talk Kenma into this.

He waits a handful of tense heartbeats, and, eventually, he hears another noise. Whoever this is, it certainly isn’t a late-night janitor. His earpiece is still dead, so it isn’t Kenma, and he can’t think of any situation in which Kenma would sneak in rather than radioing.

He searches his brain for _any_ way to change these circumstances. He could try to play this off as corporate espionage, but he doesn’t have enough knowledge of other firms to do it under scrutiny. There’s no way anyone would believe him a petty thief when he’s elbow-deep in what had been a _firmly_ locked safe.

 _Shit. Shit shit shit_. Tetsurou eases his way out of the safe, closing it but not shutting it completely, concentrating hard for further sounds.

A sudden beam of light cuts through the dark office and Tetsurou nearly pulls a knife on reflex. He hears a sigh from the silhouette behind the light, and after a beat, it shuts off again. He blinks the spots out of his eyes and waits for his night vision to return; when it does, he sees the last person he expects standing across the desk.

Suguru sighs again, a hand on his hip as he cocks his head to the side. “What are _you_ doing here?” he asks like he’s reprimanding a toddler.

“Cleaning up after _your_ mess. Christ, what the hell are you doing here, Daishou?” Tetsurou stands and kicks the safe shut. It bounces back open after a heavy _clang_. Neither flinch at the noise.

“Do you even realize how long I’ve been trying to get the proof I need on this guy? Do you realize what your presence here could have _done_?” Suguru narrows his eyes and folds his arms, tight, across his chest. “I’ve been busting my ass for the past year and a half, and I am _not_ about to let a stray cat burglar ruin this.”

“I’m here for _you_ ,” Tetsurou spits.

The moment of shock in his expression is not worth the headache of this night.

“What,” Suguru says, voice terrifyingly devoid of any of prior flippancy.

“We’re your extraction.” Tetsurou meets Suguru’s blank face without fear, but something unsettled pricks at the back of his neck. In the dark room, he can barely see, but what he does see he definitely does _not_ like. “We’re going to help complete your mission, and get you out.”

He’s heard horror stories of agents turning, too caught up in their own web of lies, or even just outright turning traitor. But he wouldn’t expect it out of Suguru. He doesn’t want the doubt to sprout within him. “I see,” Suguru says flatly.

Neither of them hear the third entry into their scene until there’s the glint of a knife and Kenma has Suguru at arm’s length, hand fisted in his jacket.

There’s a pregnant pause as the two examine each other; Suguru does not move within Kenma’s grasp, and seems oddly unsurprised to see him there. “…What an extraction team they’ve given me,” he finally says and a grin slices across his face, twice as sharp as the blade in Kenma’s hand.

 

—

 

They’re five weeks into their mission, comfortable enough in their shaky routine, though Kenma still is the one who pushes for key moments to cement their cover. He’s the one who steals kisses on street corners, who instigates wall-thumping sex noise time, who orchestrated a loud argument over forgetting to buy milk. Kenma loves the little details, Tetsurou knows. He can lose himself in them, in a good way, build up layer after layer of disguise until no one can see anything but what he has crafted.

There is no room for error when working with Kenma. It’s a good thing Tetsurou is good at his job of being in love with him.

But they’re still both _just_ new enough at this that they’re on unsteady legs when something major throws a ratchet into their plans, such as a neighbor one floor down inviting them over for a house party.

It takes Tetsurou a moment too long to respond, stunned as he is by the admittedly stupid thought of _what kind of gift should we bring when they’ve been listening to us moan and jump on the bed for the past month_ , and Kenma is forced to accept the invitation with a shy half-smile and a tug on Tetsurou’s arm.

Kenma gives him a dirty look as soon as they escape into the safety of their own apartment. Tetsurou knows he’s unhappy that Tetsurou stalled out. “Sorry,” he says preemptively and rubs the back of his neck with a strange sense of embarrassment.

“You’re supposed to be a social butterfly,” Kenma pouts.

Tetsurou does not know if he means the cover or not. He also doesn’t know why this is what Kenma chooses to get miffed about. “D’you think there will be a dress code?” Tetsurou asks, changing the subject, and Kenma lets him.

The party turned out to be more college frat party aesthetic than Tetsurou had expected out of this apartment complex. There is far too much alcohol and loud music for his tastes, especially for Kenma’s. The bass thrums in his lungs as he shouts to be heard.

They know to drink enough not to be the weird person who _doesn’t_ drink when invited out, but never enough to loosen their tongues. Tetsurou allows himself the silly luxury of a drinking game with a few of the rowdier guests, and Kenma stays close, curling up with a cup on the edge of the couch, toes flexing in the cushions while his eyes are glued to Tetsurou. Tetsurou feels his attention like a weight while he plays beer pong. It’s a stupid thing for Kenma to pay attention to.

Occasionally, in the breathing space between songs, Tetsurou can hear Kenma speaking to others behind him. Tetsurou hardly exchanges a dozen words with the crew he’s playing with; most of the vocalizations are more akin to drunken gorilla grunts, and he wonders if his IQ is dropping as much as he fears from the proximity. It’s _definitely_ dropping from the cheap beer.

He shows off, just a little. He takes his turns, bouncing the ball with equal skill with both hands, doing trick shots over his shoulder and off the wall. It’s nothing particularly bad, anyone with too much time or practice could do this, but Tetsurou isn’t supposed to be anything except a mildly attractive neighbor who has an internship at a local architecture firm. His cover hadn’t joined a fraternity at his undergrad.

Tetsurou half-expects it when hands slide into the back pockets on his jeans, and Kenma stands up on the tips of his toes. Tetsurou leans down to allow him to hook his chin over his shoulder. “Tetsu,” he says, as close to whispering in his ear as he can get from this angle and with the background din, “use your hands for something better.”

Kenma murmurs further sweet nothings into his ear—purely for show. He squeezes Tetsurou’s ass and noses along the side of his neck and jaw, but all he recites are different magic spells from the _Persona_ series.

Even that is a _stupid_ amount of too much. Tetsurou may have been drinking too much, may have been doing too much. There’s a lot of too much tonight from this, before they’ve settled into their roles. Tetsurou giggles, like a goddamned schoolgirl, giddy with proximity and alcohol and sudden, pressing Real Kenma Feelings.

Now is not the time.

Kenma must have sensed that ages ago. He creates enough plausible deniability for them to leave early, hands rarely leaving any part of Tetsurou until they’re in the hallway, and even then he pauses just outside the door to press Tetsurou against the wall next to the door with a _thump_. 

“You’re too much,” Kenma tells him, clearly unhappy but voice coming out as little more than a sultry purr.

“Didn’t my,” and Tetsurou swallows, “impressive tactile skills turn you on?”

Kenma knows Tetsurou is ambidextrous, could have drank anyone there under the table, and has the hand-eye coordination of a professional athlete. Kenma is very much _not_ turned on by Tetsurou’s beer breath, frat boy behavior, and certainly never turned on by the usual smirk Tetsurou wears now as his last defense.

Kenma, in spite of all of this, grabs the collar of Tetsurou’s shirt and tugs him down to his level. Their faces—their _mouths_ are millimeters apart, but they’re alone in the hallway and unless Kenma plans on feigning loud makeouts against the wall, they have nothing to gain right now, and they _will_ get caught if they try to fake it, so Tetsurou realizes with horror that for the first time he has _no idea_ what Kenma is thinking.

The little old lady from down the hall ducks out into the corridor and both men freeze, close enough that when Kenma startles, his lips brush Tetsurou’s.

“Could you tell them to keep it down?” she asks, squinting at their display, but not commenting on it.

Tetsurou lets out a wild, nervous laugh. He sounds like a drunk hyena. He _feels_ like a drunk hyena. Kenma grunts out some sort of vague affirmative, and the old lady disappears back inside, and Kenma pulls away from him. Tetsurou feels chilled without the press of his body against his.

They hold hands back to the apartment, a perfunctory show. Tetsurou wants to imprint the feeling of the ring on Kenma’s finger against his skin until it doesn’t feel unnatural anymore.

He wishes he knew what Kenma stood to gain from kissing him in the hallway.

 

—

 

“What’s got you so stressed?” Tetsurou asks, raising his head from the fake files that make up his fake job.

Kenma stills the pen tapping against his mouth, and raises his eyes in little more than a glare. “We have no way of establishing contact again, and we have no idea what was in that safe. If Suguru found information he needed, we won’t know until he moves next—we can’t plan for that.”

It’s a lot of words; Tetsurou wonders how long he’s been keeping this in.

He pushes back from the table, pulls off his glasses, and circles behind Kenma so he can put his hands on his shoulders. He presses his thumbs into the sides of his spine, and in zero time flat, Kenma is melting against him with an obscene sigh.

Tetsurou has gotten used to the little sounds Kenma makes. It’s like coming home. Memories from past missions return, comfortable and familiar, and they’ve settled into their roles here, together, with an ease that scares him. Coming back from deep cover missions are always rough, but he thinks the adjustment period following this one will be particularly bad.

He wonders if Kenma will accept massages from him when they’re done.

Probably. Kenma likes being spoiled.

Tetsurou is so, _so_ fucked. How does someone even come back from something like this?

And then, it all goes to hell in an entirely different way: the burner cell he’d been given for emergencies rings from beneath the bed.

Both of them freeze, tense again, but neither can immediately process what that means. Tetsurou has never been on a mission that has been broken by the handler. They’ve only been doing this for two and a half months. He’s only spoken to Sugawara once in that time.

The papers Kenma has been poring over scatter as he scrambles down to retrieve the phone. He answers it by the third ring, with a trembling, “Hello?”

The conversation is quick, stilted. Kenma has gone pale by the time he hangs up. Tetsurou is ready to chew his nails off, but instead, he gently grabs Kenma’s shoulders to steady him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s over. Suguru finished his mission—we’re superfluous.”

That is _not_ what he expects to hear.

It beats the momentary terror of _is this going to turn into an assassination_ and the thoughts of Suguru turning traitor, but this is still little more than a punch to the gut. Now _they’re_ the ones who are going to need extraction. There’s not much to clean up here, just the logistics of leaving without notice and picking up the stuff in the apartment; they hadn’t gotten far enough, cautious the second time around, to have tripped any notice from any of the men they were supposed to be getting information on.

This is a very, very hollow victory. Tetsurou _hates_ missions left undone, even if this is technically completed.

He realizes, a moment too late, that he needs to release Kenma. The ring on his finger catches the light with the movement.

 _Oh_ , Tetsurou thinks, _this is over now. We’re not married anymore._

 

—

 

“Guess I just needed a kick in the ass,” Suguru says, still shrugging, all smiles and pride. Tetsurou is two seconds from punching him in the face. Sugawara seems similarly inclined.

“He completed his mission satisfactorily, and no one’s cover was compromised,” Ushijima butts in like he can read their minds.

“He wasted our time! He wasted time and resources—we could have been doing a million different things instead of trying to clean up after him!” Tetsurou snaps hotly.

“Oh, it was a low-risk job for you,” Suguru has the nerve to scoff.

Sugawara hastily cuts in. “He _is_ right. Neither you nor Kenma were in much danger that early. It will be easy enough to pull you both. Daishou, on the other hand, gets the fun job of laying low in Morocco with his handler for the aftermath of this.”

Ushijima doesn’t look pleased, but at least his French is better than Suguru’s. Tetsurou still wants to throttle him, however, because he finished the mission out of spite, pure and simple. He took a huge risk, trying to get the lead on them, pulling what little glory there was in rescuing him from them.

“I never want to work with him again,” Tetsurou declares and stomps off.

“Debriefing isn’t over,” Kenma says, effortlessly keeping pace with him, which is _also_ leaving the debriefing he’s scolding him for.

“What’s there to debrief?!” It’s not a mission _failed_ , since it hinged upon Suguru’s to begin with. Their records will remain spotless. But Suguru’s behavior is disgusting, and Tetsurou wants to keep seething over it. They _could_ have done more. They could have legitimately helped the asshole, not made him risk his life, cover, and information for what amounted to a break-in. “That idiot could’ve gotten himself killed,” he adds in a frustrated growl.

“He didn’t, and we didn’t have to dirty our hands, either,” Kenma points out.

“We were useless. Our entire job was useless.”

“We were his backup. That’s not useless.”

“He purposefully—”

“Our mission was to get Daishou Suguru and the information he was meant to acquire into our agency’s hands,” Kenma recites, and he grabs Tetsurou’s arm to halt him. Tetsurou swings around to face him, ashamed at his anger but unwilling to let it go.

Kenma doesn’t get it. They were useless, superfluous, and wasted their time. They spent almost three months playing house together, kissing and buying groceries together and falling asleep next to each other, for _nothing_. Tetsurou has nothing to show for being married to Kenma except worsened feelings and infinite frustration.

He realizes, then, that he hasn’t returned the ring on his finger yet.

Neither has Kenma.

They’re both still in clothes from the apartment, haven’t been released to get their own things or adjust back to Normal. Normal that doesn’t entail being with Kenma like that, normal that isn’t Kenma stressing over the mission.

“Aren’t you upset?” Tetsurou asks with a frown.

“Of course I am,” Kenma calmly replies. “But that will pass. We’re done now. We need to finish debriefing, shower, change out of this stuff, and sleep it off.”

“It was for nothing,” Tetsurou points out, hollowly. Kenma nods. They effectively got paid to cohabitate and Tetsurou hates that he hates that. It’s too indulgent. He feels _embarrassed_ , ashamed at the very prospect; at least when the mission had been active he could blame everything on that, every lingering touch or soft glance on being in-character.

“We’re going to get vacation time for nothing, then,” Kenma tells him.

“I don’t like doing nothing.”

“I know.”

And then, suddenly, Kenma is too close to him again. He pulls, gently, on the strings of Tetsurou’s hoodie until he’s down to eye level with him, and Tetsurou almost snaps back into the married persona and expects a kiss.

“I know you’re feeling frustrated,” Kenma starts, “I am, too. It will pass. They’ll figure out what to do with Suguru—that’s not our job. Our job is done. Our job wasn’t unpleasant, and it served a purpose, even though it didn’t seem like it. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Tetsurou leans forward and kisses him.

Kenma freezes.

Tetsurou rarely initiated things during the mission, as scared as he was of Kenma figuring out his secret, content with letting Kenma take the reins. He can’t blame this on habit. He pulls away, unable to meet Kenma’s eyes, and carefully detaches Kenma’s hands from his hoodie. He doesn’t apologize, but shame prickles at the back of his neck, and he moves to slink off.

Kenma catches his hand. “The mission wasn’t useless,” he repeats, to Tetsurou’s confusion. Kenma tugs him back around, yanks him down again, and kisses him again. It’s fast and innocent, but Tetsurou still can’t look Kenma in the eye, even if his face now feels as red as a tomato. “Consider it paid practice, if it makes you feel better.”

“Kenma, I…” The words die on his tongue when he finally finds Kenma’s eyes. They shine with purpose, with focus, like he’s on a new job already, one he looks forward to. “What? I-I’m sorry, we’re done being married now. Who knows when the next time—”

“Kuro,” Kenma interrupts, and the return of the nickname sends a thrill through him he’s truly missed. “No one is that good of an actor.”

“I’m an excellent actor,” Tetsurou replies dumbly.

“Maybe, but I’m not,” Kenma says without missing a beat. “Just… accept that the past few months were alright. You weren’t useless, and it was nice to spend time with you.”

Nice. _Nice_ pretending to be married to one another.

 _Stupid,_ he scolds himself.

Tetsurou can only laugh in equal parts joy and disbelief as he scoops Kenma up, pressing kisses against his cheeks, lips, jaw, nose, anywhere he can reach. They don’t need confessions or admittances past this, Tetsurou hopes, because he doesn’t want to stop.

A sharp yank on his ear stops him anyway.

“You two still have a debriefing,” Sugawara says with a terrifying smile, “and regardless of whether or not you want to continue acting out your covers—I am obligated to shove you both in therapy for that, too—I’m going to need everything you’re both wearing back. That includes the rings. They were _expensive_.”

 

—

 

“Couples therapy is supposed to be very good for relationships, so we must be ahead of the curve,” Tetsurou says, long legs stretched out, one arm slung over the back of Kenma’s chair. Kenma nods from where he’s somehow procured his phone again, despite it having been confiscated twice today. They’re alone in the waiting room for now, at least. They both know that should they try to leave, Sugawara would probably eat them alive.

“When are we going to say is our anniversary?”

“Last week, I guess. I don’t think they’ll release us if we use the cover story.”

“That would be in very poor taste,” Kenma agrees.

They _should_ return to active duty as quickly as they’re able, even if they’ll just go straight into leave from the last mission. Tetsurou already got a talking to from their handler about not antagonizing anyone or making this worse for himself.

And yet, when they’re let inside and asked when their relationship began, they both answer, “Three and a half months ago, on the eighteenth.”

It’s going to be a _long time_ before anyone makes them work with Suguru again.

Tetsurou looks forward to an eventual, _real_ honeymoon.


End file.
